Was it complicated? Or was I overthinking it? I’d never been in a situation close to this before. I never lived with a girlfriend, or even had one since college. The most logical option was probably the truest—I was a soft landing after his divorce. And a launching pad for man-sex, as he was for me. Anything else would be crazy. We weren’t dating in secret. We were exploring.
I needed to figure out his thoughts without letting him know mine. Like a mature, grown-up would. I didn’t want to seed anything in his head or confirm my fears. Things were going too well to blow up because I was being crazy.
We were devouring his cheeseburger meatloaf as the TV droned in the other room, when I said, “This is better than my mom’s,” with a full mouth.
Alec chuckled and said, “Thanks, man. Better than mine, too.”
“Viv was lucky to have such a five-star chef in the house.”
Alec’s face darkened as he skewered a piece of loaf. “Nope.” He looked up. “She hates it… well,usedto hate it when I cooked. All but banned me from the kitchen because she said my cooking was childish and worse than my mother.”
“Your mom was a big cook?”
He laughed, letting the piece fall off his fork. “No way. That was the joke—she didn’t cook at all. Mom used to say the best thing she makes is reservations.”
“So, your dad?” I asked, nervous he’d say yes.
“The man didn’t even own a grill.” He chuckled. “No, neither of them cooked.”
I laughed. “Where’d you learn then?”
“Taught my damn self.”
“What? No way. This has a certain… grandma’s depression recipe quality to it.”
He glared at me. “It’s not good? You don’t like it? You said you were neutral to pickles, and I used bread and butter, so they just add sweetness.”
“No! It’s good,” I said, laughing. “Just that, your ex is wild for many reasons, but thinking you can’t cook is now my favorite.”
He grunted with a forced smile after taking a bite.
That was a relief. Alec wasn’t parroting his parentsorhis marriage. Meaning he thought our dynamic was closer to fuck buddies. I was about to ask if he was the house cook for his roommates in college—the ideal scenario for us to reenact—but I didn’t.
“You guys ate out a lot growing up?” I asked.
He gulped his food, causing him to take a breath. “Not really, no.”
“Ordered out a lot?”
“No.” He was done looking at me.
That didn’t make sense. Where did little Alec get food if his parents didn’t cook, they didn’t go out, or order?
“Then how the hell did you eat?”
He rolled his eyes. “I fed myself. Ijusttold you I taught myself to cook.”
“Even as a kid?”
“Yup, even as a kid.”
“Like a little kid?”
He tensed his eyes. “What’s with the third degree, Blackwood?
That look and tone would never lose its effect on me. I swallowed, then said, “I don’t know. Just curious.”
“Curious about what?”
